


Absence of Reason

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, M/M, Romance, Series, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-07-27
Updated: 1999-07-27
Packaged: 2018-11-10 09:38:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11124543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Ray can't decide what he wants.





	Absence of Reason

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

# Absence of Reason 

_I was drunk._  
That might work. _Nope, sorry. Don't remember a thing. I was completely_  
smashed. Why? What happened?

Stanley Raymond Kowalski chewed  
his lip as he considered this option. The Mountie would know he was lying,  
but would never call him on it and that would double the guilt.  
  
 _Can't let this go any further. It would interfere with our working_  
relationship. Don't want to damage the working relationship.  
  
Now that sounded even better. The Mountie, being who he was, would  
put the job before anything else, right? Unfortunately, there wasn't  
really a working relationship, since Fraser was his actual partner.  
  
 _This really isn't my scene. I just wanted to see what it was like._  
  
Ray snorted. Even he didn't buy that. He knew his experience had  
been pretty obvious and it was way too late to play the virgin now.

_I'm still in love with my ex._

Nah. He wasn't sure if it was even true anymore, and it made him  
look like a schmuk.

All that was really left was the truth and Ray preferred to avoid that  
at all costs. I _t doesn't matter how you feel about me or how hot you_  
are in bed, this thing is never going further that some fun in the sack.  
You're a good guy and I like you all right, but I got enough problems  
of my own without putting up with the embarrassment of being with someone  
who can't form a sentence without stuttering; can't move from A to B  
without tripping and can't follow a simple order without looking like  
a complete idiot.

How could he possibly say that? Although he had no desire for a  
long-term relationship with Renfield Turnbull, he didn't want to inflict  
any pain on the man either. The truth would definitely hurt too much.

So what was left? Maybe it would be best to just forget the whole thing.  
Yeah. Never bring up the most memorable night of sex he'd had since college  
and hope that Turnbull eventually forgot about it as well.

Turnbull wouldn't forget, though, and Ray knew it. The Mountie had been  
carrying a torch for him for some time and was so incapable of hiding  
those feelings that plenty of people at work knew about it. There had  
been a few jokes cracked, but nothing particularly malicious was said.  
Everyone in the two-seven liked Turnbull--in a dumb dog kind of way.

Can't say I was drunk. Can't use the work excuse. Can't use the "I'm  
totally straight" excuse. Can't blame the ex-wife. And definitely can  
NOT tell the truth. What's left?

"Ray?"

A concerned voice jolted Ray from his reveries and his heart sank when  
he saw the angular face peering through the driver's window. "Hey," was  
all he could manage at the moment.

"The Consulate is closed,  
Ray," Turnbull informed him apologetically. "Inspector Thatcher and Constable  
Fraser had to meet the Minister of Trade at the airport and--"

"Yeah, I know. Fraser told me. I came to see you." Oh damn, oh damn,  
oh DAMN. That hadn't come out right at all.

Turnbull's smile was immediate and overjoyed. "Thank you, Ray," he looked  
briefly disconcerted. "No, not thank you . . . you haven't actually done  
anything . . . well, you *have*, but . . . " Turnbull's face growing  
redder every minute. "That is, 'thank you' may not be the correct response  
to--"

"Get in the car," Ray finally said in exasperation. "I'll give you a  
ride home."

"Thank you, Ray," Turnbull walked around the front of the GTO, banger  
his knee on the bumper as he went.

Ray winced in sympathy, even though Turnbull seemed more embarrassed  
than hurt. He made it into the car without further incident and Ray pulled  
away from the curb.

"I was hoping to talk to you, Ray," Turnbull began hesitantly. "I didn't  
want to impose by calling you..."

_This was a big mistake._ "I need your address, Turnbull."

"...so I was happy to see--what? Oh, that's right. You've never been  
to--that is, were at your place when--"

"The address, Turnbull," the words with more roughness than Ray intended.

Turnbull was immediately contrite. "It's 3092 North Foster Avenue."

"Forest Glen?" Ray asked in genuine surprise.

"It's a converted carriage house," Turnbull said happily. "I was very  
lucky to get it."  
  
"A carriage house? As in horse and buggy?" _This place must be ancient._

"Yes. It needed some repair work, but the landlady said if I kept the  
place up she'd give me a break on the rent..." Turnbull's voice trailed  
off and he looked at Ray shyly.

Ray gritted his teeth in frustration. What right did Turnbull have to  
look _shy_ when just two nights ago Ray had him flat on his back,  
his legs drawn up to his chest and--Ray abruptly cut off that train of  
thought when he felt a stirring in his groin.

"I was wondering..." Turnbull was talking again. "That is, if you don't  
have any plans...if you would like to join me for dinner."

The memory of Turnbull giving anything asked of him--and more--was a  
difficult one to banish and Ray gave up trying. _What difference is  
one night going to make, anyway?_ "Sure. Why not?"

Turnbull smiled, his heart in his eyes.

_See? You're making him happy. Nothing wrong with that._ Ray ruthlessly  
blocked the wave of approaching guilt by recalling that the Mountie was  
as adept with his tongue as he was inept at everything else.

He'd just have to tell Turnbull some other time. What was that old saying?  
Never put off 'til tomorrow what you can avoid altogether.

********

Turnbull actually had the nerve to apologize for the mouth-watering stir-fry he served, much to Ray's disbelief and annoyance. He, of course, had to assure the Mountie delicious and was rewarded with one of Turnbull's brilliant smiles.  
  
Throughout dinner Ray vented his emotions about anything that had annoyed him during the course of his day, from a rookie that messed up a case to bad coffee. Turnbull was sympathetic to the tiniest complaint and never once mentioned how his day had gone. Nor did Ray ask. Turnbull seemed happy that Ray was there at all, and Ray decided that was good enough.  
  
He turned down Turnbull's offer of a tour. "What is this? The White House?"  
  
Turnbull apologized for suggesting it and Ray immediately regretted his sarcastic words. The guilt he felt did nothing to improve his temper. He sat at the table while Turnbull washed the dishes, Turnbull's urging to make himself comfortable. He didn't want to become acquainted with any part of the apartment--except maybe the bedroom.  
  
Ray glanced around the apartment until his eyes came to rest on a painting. More specifically, on the corner of a painting, and when the initials "RJT" caught his eye, he quickly averted his gaze. He didn't want to know whether Turnbull was a talented painter or what sort of subjects the Mountie painted--that would be too intimate.  
  
Instead, he focused on the broad-shouldered figure at the kitchen sink. Before long, the play of muscles beneath the white t-shirt and black jeans pushed all other thoughts from his mind save one.  
  
Did Turnbull have to wash those dishes now?  
  
In the next moment, Ray was on his feet with his arms around Turnbull's waist and pressed along the length of Turnbull's body. "Can't you do that some other time?" he murmured, stretching slightly to bite down on a soft earlobe. He smiled when a shudder ran through the muscular form.  
  
"If you like," Turnbull replied demurely.  
  
"I like," Ray slid his hands under Turnbull's t-shirt and traced the well-defined abs. "I'm ready for that tour now. Let's start with the bedroom." He felt rather than heard Turnbull's sigh, and it didn't feel like a happy one. "Is that a no?" Ren turned in his arms and lowered his head slightly. Ray was more than happy to meet him halfway, thrusting his tongue into the warm mouth as soon as he got the opportunity. Ray lifted the white t-shirt higher for better access to that warm silken skin. "Bedroom," he rasped in Turnbull's ear.  
  
Ren nodded as best he could with Ray's lips and tongue investigating the hollow of his neck and began taking stumbling steps towards the bedroom.  
  
Ray didn't bother glancing around Turnbull's room. He was too busy helping the Mountie remove their clothes. Ray gave him the tiniest push and Turnbull willingly fell back onto the bed. Ray settled on top of him, moving his attentions from Ren's neck to the broad chest while he moved luxuriously against the big body.  
  
Ren's hands kept moving along the length of the detective's wiry body, from the spiky blond hair were the long, gentle fingers massaged his scalp, down his back to his ass. The grip tightened as the Mountie began to thrust against the body above him.  
  
Ray wasn't ready for things to end so quickly, though. He levered himself on his arms and slid down the length of Turnbull's body, smiling when he felt Ren draw in a long breath. The sigh was abruptly cut off with a gasp when his cockhead was covered with a warm, wet mouth.  
  
The long-fingered hands clenched and unclenched in the sheets as Turnbull writhed with pleasure. Ray's touch became lighter and lighter until Ren was ready to scream with frustration. He tried to thrust upwards, mindlessly searching for more contact, but Ray's hands on his hips held him firm.  
  
Then the touch stopped altogether and Ray was leaning over him with a devilish smile on his face. "What do you want?" he whispered, one hand reaching down to cup Ren's balls. "You." The blue eyes were wild. " _You_ , Ray."  
  
Ray hesitated a moment at the fierce longing in Ren's voice. "How do you want me?" He stroked the skin beneath Ren's balls.  
  
Ren stared at him in desperate confusion. Then he closed his eyes and moaned as Ray's fingers moved between his butt cheeks.  
  
"Like this?"  
  
Ren pushed against the slick finger, making its entry easier.  
  
"That's a definite yes." With a wicked grin, Ray pushed another finger and leaned down to kiss Ren, swallowing another moan. He was more than ready now and shifted over top of the larger man, gently pushing Ren's legs up.  
  
Ren drew his knees to his chest, opening himself fully to the detective. Ray's precum provided all the lubrication needed for him to enter the tight passage. Ren shuddered, then wrapped his long legs around the slim hips, holding Ray deep inside him. Ray leaned forward, trapping Ren's straining cock between them as his began to move slowly inside him. He levered himself up on his arms so he could watch Ray's rapt expression.   
  
"Ray...Ray...Ray..." The name was like a mantra as Ren thrust upwards against Ray's belly, keeping perfect time with the smaller man's movements. Then, as if sensing Ray's intense gaze, the blue eyes opened and locked with green.  
  
Mesmerised, Ray found it impossible to look away, even though there were emotions in those silvery-blue depths he didn't want to see. He didn't want to know that Ren's feeling for him went far, far beyond a crush, and those eyes made it painfully obvious. Closing his eyes, Ray began moving faster and pumping harder.  
  
Rather that being discomfited, Ren met him thrust for thrust, his head thrown back in complete abandon, his fingers digging into Ray's back hard enough to leave bruises. They were bruises that Ray wouldn't notice until the next day--all he was aware of was pounding the willing body beneath him to completion.  
  
A hoarse cry signalled the end, and when he felt the warmth of Ren's release against his skin, Ray plunged recklessly towards his own.  
  


********

Ray wasn't sure how long he lay sprawled on top of the Mountie. He just knew he felt too good to bother with anything so trivial as moving. The soothing fingers running through his hair had him practically purring and when he rubbed his cheek appreciatively against the broad chest it rested on, a soft sigh told him Ren was equally content.  
  
Sweaty and sated, Ray dozed briefly, thinking how nice it would be to fall asleep in such a comfortable place. No doubt in the morning he would wake up to more great sex and--if dinner was any indication--one helluva breakfast.  
  
Ren shifted slightly and murmured something indistinguishable. When the muscular arms wrapped around him, Ren realized this was too much...too good. So good that he'd nearly forgotten he had no intention of getting emotionally involved with a klutzy junior Mountie.  
  
Abruptly, he pushed himself up and off the bed, carefully avoiding the other man's startled expression.  
  
"Ray?"  
  
Ray ignored him as he searched for his shorts.  
  
"Ray, what's wrong? What are you doing?"  
  
"I'm getting dressed."  
  
"Yes, I see, but...why? Are you leaving already?"  
  
"Yes," Ray snapped.  
  
There were several moments of silence, then-- "Ray, you seemed...well, I was hoping..."  
  
"Look, if I don't leave now, I'll wind up staying until tomorrow morning."  
  
"I'd like that, Ray."  
  
Ray gritted his teeth against the wistful entreaty and pulled on his jeans. "Yeah, well, I can't." As he was pulling on his shirt, he heard Ren leave the bed. _Don't come here,_ he willed. Then he opened his eyes, unable to help staring at a body that would be the envy of any decathlete. _Jesus, get back under the covers or we'll be at it again_.  
  
Ren stopped inches away from Ray, who thought the Mountie might start undressing him again. Ren didn't lay a hand on him, though. Instead he leaned down slightly and kissed him so sweetly that it was all Ray could do not to throw him back down on the bed to demonstrate what kisses like that would get him.  
  
Ren drew back first, giving Ray a smile that was as tempting as his kiss.   
  
"I gotta go," Ray insisted roughly.  
  
"All right," Ren's smile didn't fade.  
  
Ray gave him a gentle shove. "Go back to bed. I know my way out." Then he turned and left the room as fast as he could without actually running.  
  


********

Ray drove home on automatic pilot, wondering how he was going to handle a situation that was rapidly getting out of hand. He knew there was no way he was going to stop sleeping with Turnbull; he just wondered how he was going to keep doing it without the Mountie getting any weird ideas about love.  
  
It had been easy in college. Although the men he slept with hadn't exactly been strangers, there had been no strong feeling involved--except maybe lust. In the police academy he'd had to be a little more careful, but the basics had been the same. In his mind, love was reserved for women--more specifically, Stella. With men it was about mutually satisfying and really hot sex.  
  
Turnbull just didn't think that way, Ray knew. Turnbull thought in terms of love and romance and giving yourself to one another. Already, that was a little more than Ray wanted to know about the man. If Turnbull could only stick to a casual "hey-how's-it-goin'?" in public, things would be great, but Turnbull wouldn't. Turnbull would look at him with those soft puppy-dog eyes and that adoring smile and everyone would know what was going on between them.  
  
Ray wasn't so concerned with people knowing _what_ he was doing as much as he was _with whom_. If Turnbull was something of a joke among their co-workers, what would that make him? He'd had his fill of jibes and snickers as the result of Stella's blatant snubs to put up with the possibility of more.  
  
He wondered if there was anyway to get this across to Turnbull.  
  
He doubted it.  
  
End.  
  
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, yadda, yadda, yadda, I'm just borrowing them for awhile. Please don't sue me.  
  
Victoria Bishop  
June 1998  
bishop@mb.sympatico.ca 


End file.
